I needed a bridge – and, I didn’t even know it.
 
Growing up, I didn’t have any sisters.  Twenty years had drifted past since I last lived with my only brother.  I was twelve when he left home to join the navy.  So during my teens, I pretty much functioned as an only child.  For six years, day-to-day interaction at home was between three people: my mom, dad, and me.  Conversations had few interruptions. Drama was low-key.  Interactions were straightforward, and for the most part, life was predictable.
 
On top of this, it had been eight years since I had last lived at home with my parents.
 
So, in 1985, at the age of 31, I was a bit rusty with this thing called “family living”.  Oh, I had had lots of roommates, and lots of chances for kerfuffles.  I had participated in a fair number of simulated family and group home settings.  But, I was “less than current” on the intricacies of negotiating family dynamics - day in and day out.

​Within a six-month period, my life had swung from a season of incredible highs, to a stretch of discombobulating lows.  But, it was within this swing of the pendulum that God taught me a valuable lesson about “seeing layers in life”. 

The Mountain
 
It started high in the Himalayas. 
 
Long before I even knew what a "bucket list" was, this certainly qualified to be on any list of mine.
 
Near the end of June 1985, I had just finished my teaching contract at a university in southern China.  I had a fist-full of renminbi, which I had been accumulating for well over a year.  And since the currency was only recognized within China, I had to spend it, or lose it.  So, I decided to head to the interior of China; wander with a backpack; see sights; take pictures; and go until I ran out of cash. 
 
It was a bohemian’s dream. 
 
Yet, for me, I wasn’t really being bohemian.  I was just being me.  It made practical sense to see things while I was there.  I had an opportunity for some “hands-on” learning of Chinese geography, culture, and history.  I just had to do it.  There was no way that I could not.  So, off I went - alone and without much of a planned itinerary.  I did what was starting to become a natural reaction.  I headed west. 
 
And in the process, I ended up in Tibet.

​From “Driven to Be Average: Part One”
 
After graduating from high school in 1972, I followed an “average” course.  I went away to school.  I worked, studied, dated, traveled, and generally tried to find my way…. 
 
By the time I had entered into my 20's, I had conditioned myself to seek the middle.  And, I was mostly content to be there.  Yet, my passion to travel, and desire for “hands-on learning” were beginning to stretch me beyond what was comfortable.  These two things were “itches that I needed to scratch”.  They were latent motivational forces that began to be stirred.
 
In the process, my thinking about myself began to get a bit stretched….
 
 
“Driven to Be Average: Part Two”
 
In 1984, I turned 30.  And, I found myself in mainland China teaching English to a group of educated professionals.

 ​It was a Thursday afternoon. 
 
In southern California, it was just an average day in the middle of June.  Overcast in the morning.  Sunny in the afternoon.  The days were patterned, routine, and almost mundane.  Nothing pressing loomed on the horizon.
 
Then, the phone rang.
 
Of all the phone calls I have ever received, this one is in a class all by itself.  I am confident that no other call has had, or ever will have, the scope of impact to rival this call.  Trust me! 
 
This conversation will always be known in my household as “THE PHONE CALL”.

It was just a simple flick of the wrist.  A checkmark made on a form for a job search.   

It was a last-minute choice, and little thought went into it.  It was certainly not part of any long-term strategic plan.  
 
At 2:00 in the morning, while on break at work, a friend helped me out.  She made an “outside-of-the-box” suggestion.  I reacted.   Then, checked the box.      
 
And, God used this friend, and a tiny little checkmark, to profoundly impact the direction of my life!

Nothing prepared me for the shock of getting unexpected bad news.
 
When the phone rang, and I answered it - I could just tell the news was not good. The voice was forced.  The words clipped – on edge.  My senses braced – as I reacted to the nervous “tells”.  An overwhelming sense of dread started to arise – as the message sunk in.  My world tilted.  And, the moment was forever seared in my memory. 
 
The first time I got such a phone call was in 1981, and it  was from my parents.    

It was winter in the northern woods of Lower Michigan.  The snow was beautiful, but there was a lot of it!  And, it was cold outside.  The “lake affect” from Lake Michigan routinely caused the weather to be surly and unpredictable.  “Bitter” was regularly added to the word “cold”.   ​​

In December of 1978, I was staying at the camp where my parents were caretakers.  ​ And, even though I had grown up in Michigan, the weather in this part of the state was more severe, and there was a lot less infrastructure to combat it.

​Camp had a lot of houses around it.  But, precious few were occupied in winter.  My dad made extra money patrolling a circuit of homes on snowshoes each week.  He kept an eye out, and would notify home-owners if, and when, there was damage.  Technically camp wasn’t remote – but in the winter, it felt remote.  The nearest town was 10 miles away.  Only the major roads got plowed.  We were on our own to connect ourselves to the plowed roads.  When winter arrived, we were isolated.

I bought my first car in 1972.  It was a 1969 Opel Cadet.  It had a stick-shift transmission - with a four-speed on the floor. I learned a lot about shifting gears and using a clutch on that poor vehicle.  When I needed to make turns, stops, or navigate hills, I learned the art of downshifting.  And on rare occasions, I would downshift and rev-up the rpms – to get a bit more power to pass another car.  It seemed like I was always running through the gears in the hills of Grand Rapids, Michigan.  

I was also starting to shift through gears, as I navigated the roadway of life.
 
From June 1977 to December 1978, there was some serious downshifting occurring in the Carr household.  Between my parents and me, one of us was in a state of flux during that 18-month period of time.  Change and transition was very much afloat within our family.
 
One major change occurred on May 31, 1977.   

​Decisions!  We make them all the time.  Lots of them!  According to Google, the brain processes 35,000 choices on a daily basis.  Whew!  It makes me tired just trying to “decide” if I agree. 
 
All I know is that as a young man in my early twenties, the only decisions that I truly pondered were the “biggies”.  You know - choices that I thought had long-term and obvious consequences.  Things like choosing a spouse, a home, a university, or a career.   Those were the ones I focused on and prayed about.  Sure, I prayed for health, relationships, and activities for myself and others, but my perspective was pretty narrow.  To me, I only saw God at work “in the big stuff”.
 
At that time, I thought it was crystal clear when I was making a “life-transforming decision”, and when I was not.  It hadn’t even dawned on me that seemingly insignificant decisions could also have a long-term life-altering impact: positively or negatively.    Certainly, I didn’t think or pray about them.

​There was one day in 1976, however, when the trajectory of my whole career-path started to shift.  It was like a fork in my road – a “game changer”.  Yet, at the time, the initial decision was so seemingly inconsequential that I didn’t even realize I was making it.  It was just a knee-jerk reaction.  But, it was the “first domino to fall” in a chain of events.  And over time, I have come to realize that without this decision, my life-path would be radically different than it is today.  And, God used my childhood friend, Steve, to play “the pivotal role”.